KAYROS'S POV
The day of the engagement arrives.
The roads surrounding the five-star hotel are locked down, monitored by the joint security teams of Black Wolf and Red Fox. On the ground, three hundred guards maintain a visible perimeter. Inside, an elite team of seventy fighters moves like shadows—men in black suits, the tattoo of a black wolf visible on the right side of their necks, silent and connected through discreet earpieces.
I'm in the private dressing room. Four tailors assist me, adjusting the final details of a tailored grey double-breasted suit that sharpens my silhouette into something even more imposing. My hair is styled back, my face clean-shaven, my skin glowing from the relentless pre-event regimen. I fasten my watch. The wounds on my back aren't fully healed, but the suit hides them perfectly.
The tailors step back. In the mirror, I see every inch of the cold, invincible heir of the Nathaniel family. Piercing eyes, blonde hair catching the light. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I watch a procession of luxury cars glide into the secured driveway.
Everything is controlled. Surveilled. Guarded. The entire hotel has been booked out. Winter in Berlin feels charged, electric—because I know exactly what is about to happen.
Czar and Alexander enter. Both are in black single-breasted suits. Czar's posture is relaxed, a cigarette resting between his lips, his hair deliberately tousled, mischief glinting in his eyes. He looks like the kind of beautiful chaos women can't resist.
Alexander is neat. Impeccable. His hair is perfectly styled, and he wears gloves—not for style, but necessity. He's allergic to human touch, or more accurately, traumatized by it. God only knows how he became the youngest top surgeon in the underworld.
"Everything's set," Czar says, amused and puzzled. "The Blackwoods will be here in ten. The Dimitri and Jonas families in twenty."
I nod, adjusting a cufflink. "Good. My father and stepmother?"
"Already here. Greeting guests. Your father isn't showing much." Czar sighs, almost disappointed by the lack of drama.
I say nothing. I look at my reflection, and something in my chest tightens.
I'm getting engaged.
And neither of my parents is beside me.
I don't know why that feels so hollow. Maybe it's because both are alive, yet completely absent.
My mother is paralyzed, taken away by my uncle twenty-two years ago. I haven't seen her since.
My father is remarried, absorbed in his new family, living in his private Monaco mansion with his wife and daughters.
I tuck my hands into my pockets. My expression is controlled, but in my own eyes, I look more vulnerable than I'd ever allow anyone to see.
Kayros Nathaniel has never had a family. Not a real one.
On paper, I'm the glorious heir. In reality, I'm surrounded by luxury, expectation, and silent betrayals.
Even the woman I'm about to marry is just another betrayer.
Yet in this heavy, quiet moment, I remember the innocent face of my child from another life. Soft cheeks, small hands, blue eyes full of a joy I never deserved. The wife I dared to love—the one whose guarded hazel eyes held the closest thing to happiness I ever knew.
My resentment toward Ophelia—the real Ophelia from my past life—isn't really about the betrayal that got me killed.
It's about how she refused my sincerity. It's about the three years we spent loving, laughing, building a life, raising a son. It's about knowing I'll never have that again—the wife I loved enough to let destroy me, the son I held as he took his first breath and his last.
Alexander reads my distant gaze, as he always does. He nudges me gently with his elbow.
"You're starting a new life, Kay. Don't let old ghosts hold you back."
Calm. Logical. As though it's just another fact to accept.
Forget everything. Live anew.
I step downstairs.
The ballroom is a vision of underworld opulence. A crystal chandelier hangs like frozen rain. Guests are draped in impeccable silks and tailored suits. Guards bow as I pass.
And there he is—my father. The man whose blood runs through my veins like a curse. He stands tall and proud, a lion surveying his domain. Salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders emphasized by a burgundy suit, a sharp jawline, and even sharper blue eyes. His lips are pressed thin. Unreadable.
I approach him. Congratulations wash over me. Boots are licked. I offer the bare minimum in return, a champagne flute cool in my hand. The air is thick with the scent of red roses.
Then the main doors open.
The Blackwoods enter.
The room falls silent as she walks in.
My hand stills. Everything else fades.
Her gown is red, hugging every curve like a second skin. Her eyes gleam under shimmery shadow. Her lips are painted a lethal red—the kind that could make kings kneel. A diamond necklace rests against her throat, catching every light. Her sun-kissed skin seems to glow from within.
Her hair falls in natural curls around her face. Her heels click softly against the marble.
I hate it.
I hate how breathtaking she looks. I hate how much she makes me want to forget everything and lock her away where only I can see her.
She is not the Ophelia I loved.
I've told myself this a thousand times. But every time she's near, the words ring hollow.
I don't realize I'm moving until I'm standing before her. My body knows her before my mind concedes. Every part of me feels this pull—aching, overwhelming, magnetic.
She looks up.
Something inside me cracks softly.
This woman… is going to be mine.
And I hate her.
Yet I can't stop looking. Can't stop aching. Can't stop searching for her in this stranger's face.
"Kayros."
My name on her lips feels like a dagger and a balm all at once.
My heart twists. The spark in her eyes is like sunlight on deep water—calm, serene, hypnotic.
"You look beautiful."
We both freeze as the words leave my mouth.
Her eyes widen. A beautiful, soft blush colours her cheeks—a shade that makes my chest ache in the most delicious way.
Raphael Blackwood watches me with a gaze that promises a death sentence. He looked at me exactly like this in our past life, too. What is his problem? He never even loved his own daughter.
Rhys's sharp glare cuts across the room, but it meets only Czar's teasing grin as he leans to kiss Ivy's cheek.
"For a moment, I mistook you for an angel," Czar whispers to her.
Ivy offers a polite smile. Czar's eyes dim, just for a second, but his smile doesn't falter.
He knows Ivy doesn't love him. He says he doesn't care—because he loves her.
Ivy's gaze finds me. Her breath hitches. Her eyes flutter as if she's seeing a dream materialize.
"You're attracting too much attention," Ophelia whispers, her tone judgmental, her brow slightly furrowed.
As though we're a normal couple. As though everything between us is simple.
I know what I have planned for her today. For my father. The wheels are already in motion.
But a quiet voice whispers from some bruised place inside me:
"Do you have to seek revenge? She isn't even the real Ophelia."
I bury that voice before it can take root.
The plan is already executing.
All that's left is to wait.